Predator
by Mr. GOP 88
Summary: After a high profile case, Mac does the unthinkable; he takes some time off. However, evidence mounts that someone is watching him and his time off soon becomes more dangerous than he can imagine. Same POV's and OC's as usual.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Well folks I'm back. This will be a much shorter story than War but I hope you'll like it all the same. Here is Chapter 1. Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Justice Isn't Always Fair**

* * *

"Please." She tearfully begs. "He was hunting my sister like some kind of animal. I had to do it!"

"I have to arrest you. You shot him three times in the chest."

"But… but… it isn't fair!" She fairly shouts at me.

"I'm sorry Sarah, but you are under arrest for the murder of Martin Baker. You have the right to remain silent…" I read her Miranda rights and she sobs in the interrogation room.

"Why… why does he get to have justice when my sister doesn't." She asks with a sharp, bitter tone.

"I'm sorry" I say quietly.

Finally one of the other cops comes in to process her through the system and leaves me alone in the room. I slam my hand down on the table, hard, letting out some of the frustrations I feel about this case. When I get out of the room, my anger hasn't diminished. I stand in the hallway with my eyes closed, breathing heavily, my fists clenched.

This is the second brutal case I've wrapped up as many days and this one made it into all the news outlets. I had at least two other cases I was working on, but Sinclair, always terrified of one bad headline that could dent his political ambitions, put me on this case. I haven't slept, barely eaten anything, and I know my patience is gone. I lashed out at Danny earlier today for something that would normally not bother me at all. Later, when I had calmed down, I was told by Sid that the whole Lab was thinking of playing the _Imperial March _from Star Wars when I walked into the room. I have to say that the idea gave me a laugh, the only one I've had in days.

Standing in the hallway here at the precinct, I make a decision. It's a tough one for me, and everyone else will be shocked by it, but it has to be done for my own mental sanity. But first, I have to go with Sinclair and do one of these damn press conferences.

* * *

He is mad, no furious at what he read on the internet. The Baker case is over; Sarah Klein confessed to the murder of Martin Baker. The splashy headlines, the graphic photos, the tearful interviews, the whole thing is a media frenzy and he has been following every minute of it.

The press conference at One Police Plaza is as frenzied as the story in the papers. Chief Sinclair goes through a broad overview of the case; Martin Baker, one of the big shots of Wall Street, was found dead in his luxury Manhattan apartment. Genuinely reviled as one of Wall Street's 'bad guys', Sinclair said that there was a lot of people who wanted him dead.

At this point, Sinclair steps aside and Detective Mac Taylor who conducted the investigation gives more details, including the name of the person now in custody; Sarah Klein, whose sister Patricia worked for the deceased, claims that he was stalking her sister. Sarah Klein confessed to the crime and has been placed under arrest. It is clear to anyone watching that Taylor would rather be any other place than here.

He flips off the T.V., blood boiling, the most profound sense of outrage flooding through him. This isn't right. It isn't just. He is going to do something about it.

Because someone has to pay.

* * *

No one on my team can quite believe it. Danny actually asks if I am really me or if I'm some kind of imposter. Hawkes almost checks me for a fever.

"I need some down time. I'm taking the next couple of days off." I tell them, appreciating the look of disbelief and shock on all their faces.

"And by days off you mean…"

"No cases, no scenes to process, none of it." I tell them firmly.

"Are you sure you're okay boss?" Adam asks.

"I'm fine. After the Baker case, I just need a break. Once I'm done with this vacation, I won't take another one for two years, just to make all of you feel better." I say, making them laugh.

"Well, alright. We'll hold down the fort while you're gone, don't worry." Stella says.

"I have no doubts that you all are more than capable of taking care of yourselves." I check my watch. "Okay, big announcement's over, back to work." I order them as they begin to quickly disperse. All that is, except for Stella.

"I'm glad you're doing this Mac."

"So am I."

* * *

He is determined to take justice into his own hands. The outrage over what the police said about Sarah, it just can't be tolerated. He has already decided what he is going to do. He is going after one of them. He is going to make one of them feel what it's like to be a true victim, like Sarah and Patricia. If Martin Baker could get away with stalking, well so can he.

He goes back to his computer and writes the first note. The only question is what to use as his nom de pen? There are a couple of good ones but since he is performing a divine duty, he picks one that will drive home the seriousness of this matter.

It isn't hard to find the address of the man he is sending the note to. Even a cop's home number is listed in the phone book. Using that and a quick Internet search, he finds the address. His piece of mail complete, he drops it in the box, on its way. A sense of giddy excitement fills his being. The first step is done. Now, he'll go to the more interesting aspects of his work: watching, observing, learning anything and everything about his target. Soon enough, he'll know the man better than he knows himself and once that happens, he'll make teach him a lesson the whole NYPD won't soon forget.

* * *

I usually don't feel this relieved to leave work at the end of my shift, but today is different. There is almost a liberating feeling knowing that I'm not going back for a week. My whole team gave me a warm send-off and I'm not sure if it is because they are happy I'm taking care of myself or if they are happy to not have their boss at work for a week.

I drive myself to my new apartment. It had been a somewhat tough decision to move after all these years, the ghosts of the past were prevalent throughout my old place, but I needed to move on.

I go down to the mailroom and pick up my short stack of mail to go through. Most of it is pretty tame, generic stuff: the latest change to the pension plan, a couple pieces of junk mail, a hit piece from the local city council campaign, then at the bottom of the pile, something unusual; a blue envelope with my name and address neatly printed in the center. There is no return address.

Once I get up to my apartment, I open the envelope. Inside, there is a note as brief as it is baffling:

_Mac:_

_I've chosen you._

_The Hand of God_

I have no idea about what this means. It must be a joke by some dumb kids. After all, I was a part of one of the biggest news conferences of the month earlier today and there are plenty of odd people out there.

It's just a prank I tell myself. Nothing to worry about.

* * *

In the next building over, he peers through his binoculars at the man in his apartment, reading the note he sent him. The look on the Detective's face is not one that makes him too happy; it's a puzzled look, but nothing too concerned. This angers him. The Detective isn't taking him seriously. Well, he'll fix that in no time.

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_Good? Bad? If you have an opinion about this chapter or any ideas or suggestions about this story, I'd love to hear them. _


	2. Mind Games

Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly.

_Thanks for all the warm reviews, favorites, and alerts. Here is Chapter 2. Enjoy._

**Chapter 2: Mind Games**

**

* * *

**

He looks at his watch and realizes that it's 2:30 in the morning. He smiles and moves over to the phone. If the Detective didn't think he was serious before, he certainly will now.

* * *

I'm floating in a dark sea of peaceful nothingness. Time goes by unnoticed and I savor the quiet. So this is what a good night's sleep is? I had almost forgotten. Then a sharp noise shatters the tranquility. It comes again, and much to my dismay, it jolts me out of my peaceful slumber. I groan and mutter a dark curse. I'm on vacation; why do they have to keep calling me? I almost don't answer. In fact, there is nothing I'd like more than to just say "hell with it" to whoever is calling me. But, it could be an emergency. After all, why else would anyone try and call me at 2:30 am? I feel around for the phone, wanting above all else to avoid turning on the light. Eventually after knocking at least two things off my night stand, I finally reach the phone.

"Hullo?" I mumble groggily, trying to wake up my tired mind.

"Learn fear."

"What? Who is this?" I ask confusedly, shaking the tiredness out of my head.

There is a _click_ on the other end of the phone. They hung up. What the hell is going on? "Learn fear". What does that mean? This must just be another joke. I roll over and fall back to sleep.

* * *

The Detective's confused voice warms his heart. The man clearly has no idea who he is or what is going on. Maybe he's finally getting somewhere with the stubborn cop. He decides to press his luck and call again.

* * *

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Damn it not again. I had just fallen asleep for the second time and I'm still being hectored by some anonymous coward. Who the hell is this and why are they calling me?

"Who are you?" I ask in a tougher tone. This game is getting very old very quickly.

"Fear God."

"Tell me who you are damn it." He hangs up again. My suspicions are heightened and a slightly nervous feeling sinks into the pit of my stomach. This is something more than a prank and I don't like it one damn bit.

* * *

He's thrilled at the reaction he's getting. This is starting to unnerve the Detective, and all he needs to do is push one more time.

* * *

After the second call, I don't even try to fall asleep. I just lie here in bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable ringing of my phone and for some unknown lunatic to call me and harass me at 3:45 in the morning. Sure enough, the familiar sounds "Ring! Ring! Ring" interrupts my thoughts.

"I've had enough of this." I growl at them.

"Fear the Hand of God Mac."

"I… what did you say?"

"Fear the Hand of God Mac." He hangs up.

This last call stops me cold; the "Hand of God". That is the name that was on that weird note I got in the mail today, the one that said "I've chosen you". Since everything is connected, it has to be the same person. Who is this person and why are they doing this to me? No, I'm not going to let this take over my life. I turn on the light and get out of bed to go and unplug the stupid phone. That being accomplished, I crawl back into bed and turn off the light. I'm getting some sleep, and enjoying my time off, nutcases be damned.

* * *

He debates with himself whether or not to call again. The last response from the Detective filled him with joy; he's more than unnerved now. In fact, there was the smallest sense, of dare he hope, fear in the Detective's voice. He decides not to call again. After all, now his quarry is taking him seriously.

* * *

Morning comes after much less sleep than I wanted. After getting up, I glance over at the unplugged phone. It's staying unplugged. I take my cell phone in my hand and press the off button as well. I'm going for a jog and I'm not going to be bothered by anyone. I change out of my pajamas and into my jogging pants and a t-shirt.

I begin my jog with a sense of nervous apprehension. I find myself looking over my shoulder constantly, trying to spot similar faces or seeing if someone is following me at a distance. I usually go jogging to clear my head, but on this trip, I'm consumed with thoughts about the events of yesterday. A letter in the mail and three phone calls in the middle of the night shows that this is a seriously disturbed, but also very dedicated individual. I have no doubts that whoever this is, they are stalking me. Unfortunately, I have had experience with this, going back to Andy and that whole 333 mess. That whole thing almost ended in complete disaster and I'm determined not to repeat those mistakes again.

In fact, what is at the top of my mind is my team. I've been debating with myself whether or not to call them and at least tell them about what is going on. Again, I go back to the 333 case. That time, Andy kidnapped me specifically so he could see me have to deal with someone on my team getting killed, and he damn near succeeded. The memory of what happened and the nonsense he spewed convinces me. I'm not going to call them or tell them about this, at least not yet. If this is still a problem after my vacation, then yes, I might tell them, but not until then. They need their time off from me and my problems just as much as I need time off from them.

_Stop it._ I tell myself. _You are on vacation, leave work and all of that away for five minutes._ It's good advice, but I'm not sure that I can follow it. I head into Central Park, hoping to get away from the crowds. I usually don't mind the crowds; I'm a New Yorker after all, but right now, they are making me uncomfortable. This stalker could be anyone, and could be anywhere, watching me. It's very unnerving.

I make it to Central Park and the crowds of people are replaced with crowds of trees and bushes. There are still people here, but no one looks familiar from the streets. I find one of the free benches and sit down to catch my breath and rest. There isn't anyone loitering around or acting out of place. When I realize what I'm doing, I swear at myself. I'm _not_ going to let this take over my life.

I only rest for a couple of minutes before I decide to jog back to my apartment. Despite myself, I still keep looking over my shoulder, and this time, a guy who I swear I saw in Central Park. I speed up and so do they. I turn a corner and sure enough, and so does he. I almost start running before I stop myself. "_You're a cop for God's sake, man up."_ So I stop and turn around to face this guy.

"What the hell are you following me for?" I say to him with anger.

"I just wanted to give you back the keys you dropped in Central Park. Jeez, relax pal." He says.

"Oh…thank you." I mumble, feeling very embarrassed and very stupid as I take my keys. The bastard who _is_ stalking me is probably laughing his head off at me and I deserve it. I'm tired and becoming suspicious of complete strangers. Despite my vows, I know this has gotten to me.

I make a new vow; I'm going to find this guy and put a stop to this.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's coming up. Stay tuned for more._


	3. Truth Takes a Lunch Break

__

Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly.

_Thanks for the very kind reviews, alerts and favorites. Here is Chapter 3. Enjoy_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Truth Takes a Lunch Break**

Stella arrives at work a little after 8:00 am. It's been a while since she came in this late, and is dressed this casually. In fact, as she goes through the office, saying her good mornings to those who are here, Stella is surprised that everyone else is also dressed more casually than usual. There is even less tension in the Lab today. She knows why; her partner isn't here. It isn't that Mac is a tyrant, far from it, but he is still the boss and when the boss is away, the folks at the Lab won't necessarily play, but they will let their hair down a bit. Also, after Mac wrapped up the Baker case, a lot of the pressure on the Lab went away. There are still plenty of cases to deal with; crime never stops, but things have calmed down a lot since the end of the frenzy surrounding the Baker case.

In fact, the morning that passes by is one of the quietest Stella can remember. By noon, she decides to place a phone call to Mac. Maybe the two of them can have lunch together. She first tries him on his cell phone, but it goes straight to his voice mail. He doesn't even have it on. Stella admits that she is impressed; he actually turned off his cell phone. He must be serious about taking this time off. So, she decides to try his home phone.

The line is completely dead. The robotic female voice says "the number you have dialed has been disconnected". This time, she is concerned. Stella knows that no matter what type of break he would be on, Mac would never completely shut off their means of contacting him.

She leaves her office and finds Hawkes and Tom talking at the coffee machine.

"Have either of you two heard from Mac?" She asks them.

"Not since he went on vacation." Tom shakes his head.

"Is there something wrong Stella?" Hawkes asks.

"I tried to call him for lunch and his cell phone is off and his home phone is disconnected."

"That's not like him. You think something's wrong with him?" Tom wonders.

"I don't know." Concern creeps into Stella's voice.

"Go check on him Stella. We'll be okay here." Hawkes reassures her.

"I'll do that. Be back in an hour." She tells them, leaving the Lab and heading down to the garage. She tries to call him one more time and yet again, she gets nothing on either number. Now she's really concerned. It simply isn't like Mac to do this.

Everything looks alright when Stella gets to Mac's apartment in the building. She makes her way up to his door and loudly knocks.

"Mac! Mac it's Stella!" She says loudly.

Nothing. Now she is really nervous. Why won't he answer her?

"Mac!"

She's had enough. Digging into her pocket, Stella jams the spare key into the lock and let's herself in.

* * *

When I get back to my apartment the feeling of impotent anger is still flooding over me. I just feel so damned helpless. I don't know anything about who is doing this to me and I lashed out at a Good Samaritan who did nothing but return my keys to me. I'm angry that this is getting to me so bad; I'm a cop for God's sake, I've been trained at dealing with this sort of thing.

I'm tired after my jog so I head to the shower. When I was in the Marines, I learned how to be in and out in record time. Now, after the night and morning I've had, I take my time, letting the warm water rush over my body, relaxing me. The mail hasn't come yet and my phone is still unplugged. As far as I know, I'm finally being left alone.

I stay in the shower until the warm water starts to run out. I finally decide that enough's enough and I get out and dry myself off. I put my black jeans on and am pulling my black t-shirt on when the door opens. To my great surprise, Stella is standing in my apartment, a very concerned look on her face.

"Mac!" She exclaims.

"Stella. What are you doing here?" I ask confusedly.

Without saying a word, she comes over and hugs me. I'm now thoroughly confused.

She pulls away from me and now has an exasperated look on her face.

"Stella, what are you doing in my apartment?" I ask her again, this time with less confusion and more authority. While I certainly don't mind seeing my partner and friend here, I do feel like she owes me an explanation.

"I tried calling you earlier about going to lunch but your cell was off. I tried your home line but it was dead and when I knocked on the door you didn't answer. What's going on Mac?"

I'm caught. Now I either have to tell her the truth; that I'm being stalked yet again, or I have to lie. I hate both choices.

"Well?" She crosses her hands impatiently and gives me a piercing look.

I make my decision and shrug nonchalantly. "Not much to tell. I turned off my cell because I went jogging this morning which is also why I didn't hear you knock on the door; I was in the shower."

"But what about your land line? It wasn't off, it was unplugged. You had me worried."

"I tripped over the line earlier this morning and haven't gotten around to plugging it back in."

She keeps giving me that piercing, skeptical look. She'll ask more questions if I don't act fast.

"So, you wanted to go to lunch Stel?" I ask her quickly.

The look softens, but she still doesn't smile "are you up for it?"

"Sound's great. I even know of a good sub place around here." I tell her. She quickly nods and we get into the elevator. She still seems a little irritated with me.

"Sorry I worried you Stel." I confess to her.

The coldness seems to fade. "It's alright." We reach the bottom floor. "You want to walk?" She asks me casually.

"No." I say too quickly. She gives me a look. I hastily give her a big grin, hoping this false front holds up. "I just got done with a run. Need time to rest and relax." The real reason I don't want to walk is because I want to throw this stalker off as much as possible.

"Okay then." She quickly drops the matter, much to my relief.

Our lunch is, on the surface, a pretty casual affair. Since I was so wrapped up in the Baker case for the last few days, we haven't had much of a chance for small talk, so we use the lunch as an opportunity to catch up. She seems relaxed and she seems to be buying the ruse that I'm just enjoying my vacation. Afterwards, we drive back to my apartment and she drops me off.

"Thanks for the ride Stel."

"No problem. You enjoy the rest of your day off."

"Who knows? I might get so bored just sitting around that I come into the Lab anyways." I give her a mischievous grin.

"That would be typical of you. Working on cold cases on your days off."

"At least I'm predictable." She laughs.

"See you later Mac." She waves to me as she drives off.

The moment I get up to my apartment, I slam the door shut and pound my fist against the wall. I'm madder than hell at what I just did; I lied. That whole lunch and everything I said was a God damned lie.

* * *

Today has been very enjoyable for him. He followed Mac from a distance as he went for his jog. He was there when he confronted the guy who retrieved his keys. He almost laughed himself silly at the sight of it; the strong, self-assured cop reduced to barking at an innocent good citizen.

He goes up to his rented space when the Detective goes into his apartment. From the window he peers through his binoculars and watches Mac for as long as he can, until he heads into the bathroom. He is about to go and write his note for the day when he sees a person, more specifically, a woman, heading into the apartment building. Intrigued, he waits to see if she is of any interest to him. He notices how his prey is out of the bathroom and changing clothes in his bedroom. He congratulates himself for waiting as he sees the woman enter into the cop's apartment and she meets him just as he pulls his shirt on. They talk for a bit and much to his great surprise, she wraps her arms around him in a brief hug.

"So, he has a girlfriend. Very interesting." He mutters to himself. He watches as they leave his apartment. He rushes down from his own place to be able to follow them. They enter a local sub joint. He gets a table close to them, but the place is crowded and loud, so he can't hear them talk.

He follows them as they go back to Mac's apartment. They say a brief good bye as she drives off. He darts up to his room and eagerly pens the note he will send to his prey this afternoon. Seeing the mailman enter into the cops building, he hurriedly gets his note ready and sealed in the envelope. He rushes over to the building and while the mailman has his head turned, he slips it into the mailbag. He's out of the apartment before anyone notices.

* * *

I try watching T.V., but I find myself terribly bored by it. In truth, I'm waiting for the mail to come. If the stalker stays true to character, he'll send me another note. Finally, I can't take it anymore and I call down to the front-desk.

"Excuse me, is the mail in yet?" I ask.

"Yes Sir. It just came."

"Thank you."

I race down to the mailroom and go to my box. Once again, there is a blue envelope in the pile. I don't even wait to get up to my apartment before I tear into it. Inside is another short, unnerving note:

_Mac:_

_Your girlfriend is quite cute and it was very sweet of you to take her to the sub joint. I didn't put ham on mine but seeing how good yours looked, I'll get it next time. Thanks._

_The Hand of God. _

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's coming up. Stay tuned for more._


	4. Chapter 4: New Ideas, New Plans

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks once again for all the kind reviews, alerts, and favorites. Here is Chapter 4. Enjoy._

**Chapter 4: New Ideas, New Plans**

* * *

Mac appears to be trying to bore him out of stalking him. All he has done for the rest of the day is watch TV and read some files. This certainly isn't the glamorous life of a cop that he thought it might be. Mac must be doing it wrong. Wouldn't be the first time he failed to do his job properly.

Since his quarry is doing basically nothing, he decides to run a quick errand. He heads to a local specialty shop, one that specializes in police gear, especially badges. He buys one of those and then gets something else; two small electronic bugs. He chuckles to himself when he leaves. If the NYPD was doing_ its_ job and not arresting people like Sarah Klein, they could shut down a place like this. Or stop him. But they aren't, so that place is still open and he is still roaming free.

When heads back to his rented place, he takes up his traditional spot and resumes his observations. He gets an interesting sight. The Detective is carrying a laundry bin in one hand and a garbage bag in the other.

"He'll be out for a little bit." Now this could be a good opportunity. He takes the badge he bought and heads over to the Detective's apartment. He goes up to the lady at the front-desk.

"Excuse me ma'am." He flashes the badge. "NYPD."

The young woman looks very nervous. "What… what can I do for you officer?"

He tries to suppress a smile. "Don't worry, you aren't in trouble. But I do need your help. We are conducting a sting on a drug ring in the area. We have evidence that points to one of these apartments and I need a key."

The woman nervously looks at him. "What room sir?"

"Room 634."

She looks in her desk and grabs a key. "Here you go."

He takes it from her hand. "I'm going to need to take this with me when I leave. Thank you ma'am. The NYPD appreciates your cooperation." He rewards her with a big smile.

He quickly heads up to the sixth floor and enters the apartment. A small part of him imagines what it would be like running into Mac here in his own apartment. While he eventually does want to meet him face to face, now is too early. He needs to know more before that can happen.

Inside the apartment, he finds a spot in the bedroom where he'll be able to hear anything and places the bug. He does the same in the main room. Now, even if Mac doesn't answer him on the phone, his conversations won't be private. In fact, his goal to make sure _nothing_ Mac does is private anymore. Maybe once this is all over, Mac will understand why Sarah did what she did.

He leaves the apartment and is going to the elevator, but stops when the elevator starts climb up to this floor. He goes to the stairs instead and out of the corner of his eye, he sees his quarry getting off the elevator, heading for the very spot he just left. He goes down to the front-desk and talks to the young woman again.

"Excuse me ma'am, but I need one more favor. Could you please lend me a pen and a piece of paper?"

"Sure officer." She smiles and gets what he needs.

"Thank you. Now, do you happen to know where the laundry room is?"

"In the basement."

"Thanks again." He goes to the laundry room and spies one of the driers full of men's clothes. He opens it and finds what are certainly Mac's clothes. An impulse overtakes him. He takes one of Mac's black t-shirts and scribbles another note. This one he won't place in an envelope. Instead he puts it into one of the pockets of Mac's jeans. He heads out of the laundry room with the t-shirt and the woman at the front desk looks at him curiously. He suddenly remembers he borrowed her pen he returns it with a smile.

"Thank you again ma'am. You have been…invaluable."

"No problem sir. Um… sir you never did tell me your name."

He looks at her. There is no doubt as to the name he'll tell her.

"My name is Mac Taylor."

"You have a good day Mac." She smiles.

* * *

After reading the note my stalker sent me, I stay in my apartment and try to drown out my anger by doing mundane and boring things. If this guy is watching me, and I have no reason to suspect he isn't, then I'll show him how boring this can be. So, for the rest of the afternoon, I flip through reruns on TV and read an old cold case file. I hope that this is boring him, because it sure as hell is boring me. The rest of my afternoon could be a catalog of the mundane and boring. I'm sure my team is spreading all sorts of rumors and speculating about what exactly I do during my time off. It'd actually be pretty funny to hear some of their theories, although, I'd bet none of them have "being stalked" as a suggestion. To take my mind off all of this, I take out the trash and do a load of laundry. In the laundry room, Mrs. Daniels, who lives on my floor, is folding her clothes. We chat for some time, in fact long enough for me to transfer loads from the washer to the drier. Mrs. Daniels and I head back up the elevator. I barely notice someone out of the corner of my eye heading into the stairwell.

I reread the note and let out a sigh while putting the note on the counter. The note that he sent me about spying on me and my girlfriend, who must be Stella, didn't disturb me as much as the first note. Since I know he is stalking me, the fact that he followed me to lunch isn't surprising. In fact, what bothered me most about that note was that this lunatic was so close to me and Stella. The place was crowded, it could have been anyone. There is nothing in it to give me any kind of hint about who he is and what he wants.

The alarm I put on my cell phone goes off and I head back down to the laundry room. _Real exciting afternoon_ I think dryly to myself. The laundry room is empty this time and my load is the only one here. I take out all my clothes and when I'm folding a pair of jeans, a piece of paper falls out. I pick it up and read another message in an all too familiar handwriting:

_Mac:_

_Thanks for the shirt. I was running low myself._

_The Hand of God_

I hurriedly look through the rest of my laundry. Sure enough, one of my black t-shirts is missing. Whoever this guy who is stalking me is, he is one sick individual.

Wait a minute. Someone has to have noticed a random person walk out of this building with a black t-shirt in his hands. I forget about my laundry and race up to the front desk. A bored looking young woman is behind the counter.

"Excuse me, but did a man just leave this building carrying a black t-shirt?"

She looks at me slightly confused. "Yes, yes he did. Why, are you looking for him?"

"Can you tell me anything about him?"

"I don't think I can."

"Why not?"

"Well… he's a cop."

A cop? What the hell is going on? I pull out my badge and show it to her.

"Yeah, he had one just like that."

"Did he say what his name was?"

She nods. "Certainly. He said his name was Mac Taylor."

* * *

After he leaves the apartment building and he is once again safely in his own room, he removes his own shirt and puts Mac's on. It fits…perfectly, almost like it was meant to be. He looks at himself in the mirror. The resemblance is uncanny; he could be his quarry's clone, at least in his opinion. The reality is that he is much too young to closely resemble Mac. His hair too long and his face not etched with the trials and tribulations that the Detective has had to go through.

A new, logical conclusion enters his bizarre mind. Since he is pursuing someone who _really_ deserves it, in many ways, he is acting like a real cop. Combining that with the way he looks in the mirror, the conclusion is really inescapable; _he_ _should become Mac Taylor_. It's a brilliant plan. He'll… neutralize the real Mac Taylor, and then take his place. After all, the moment he arrested Sarah, Mac forfeited his rights, all of them. His rights to privacy, his right to his own identity, even his right to live.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's coming up. Stay tuned for more._


	5. Chapter 5: Secrets Exposed

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks again for reading, alerting and favoriting this story. I really hadn't planned on writing this much this fast, but ideas come when they come. Here is Chapter 5. Enjoy_

* * *

**Chapter 5: Secrets Exposed**

* * *

Julia Vasquez, aka, the girl at the front-desk, finally gets to leave after her long shift. Usually her job is pretty boring, but today, it was much more interesting. Two cops appear to be at war with each other, or one is an imposter, she isn't really sure. They both had the same name, which was really odd. The second one seemed adamant about getting a description of the other man. This whole thing made her nervous, so much so that she's decided to call the real police when she gets home, just for her own peace of mind.

She is close to the subway station. She has always hated this part of the walk. It's dark and pretty creepy, sending a chill throughout her. She'll be glad to get on the subway and get out of here.

She never gets the chance. Someone comes out of the shadows and attacks her. She can't let out a scream because they grab her by the throat. Slowly her airway is cut off and her attempts to free herself from the death grip fails. The last thing Julia Vasquez sees in this life are the cold, merciless eyes of the man who called himself Mac Taylor.

* * *

He watches as her body slides down to ground, dead. In truth, he didn't really want to kill her, but as he watched Mac run up to the front-desk of the apartments, he sadly concluded that she was a liability that had to be dealt with. He writes another note and is about to place it on her body when he looks at it one more time. He has signed it with the same name as he signed all his other notes, but this time, it doesn't feel right. He scribbles out the name and puts another, more appropriate name as his signature. He places the note in her hands and leaves the scene.

* * *

Ever since she dropped him off, Stella has been more concerned about Mac. He seemed edgy, nervous even. She senses that he might be hiding something. Or, maybe he just isn't used to not having a million things to do or a bunch of things on his mind. Maybe he's going through work withdrawals, which to her, is all the more reason for him to take some time off.

The rest of the day is as uneventful as the morning. That is, until night falls. Then, Stella gets a phone call from Flack.

"Hey Stel, we need you at a new scene." There is a quiet urgency in his voice.

"Be right there." She grabs Hawkes and the two of them go to the scene.

They are in a familiar part of the City, still in Manhattan, near the subway station. The scene is not particularly unusual; a young Hispanic woman who was clearly strangled to death; the bruises around her neck confirm this. Hawkes estimates TOD was 2 hours ago.

"Vic's name is Julia Vasquez, age 29." Flack tells them.

"What's this?" Hawkes points to a piece of paper crumpled in her hand. Luckily, rigor hasn't set in yet and Stella gently takes the piece of paper out of the vic's hand. She opens the note and reads it aloud. Afterwards, she turns to Flack.

"Don, Mac's place is just a few blocks away. We need to see him, now."

"I'll go get him, you two keep processing." Flack starts heading towards Mac's apartment. Stella and Hawkes looks at the vic, then at each other.

"Stella, what is going on?" Hawkes asks her.

"I don't know Sheldon, but hopefully Mac does."

* * *

Even though tomorrow is Wednesday, I got my bass out of its case anyways, turned off the TV, close my eyes and started playing. My fingers moving along, strumming each note, listening as the sounds come out from the instrument.

I really hadn't planned on just sitting here tonight. When the young woman down at the front desk told me about the lunatic who stole my shirt and went by my name, my first thought was to call Flack and turn this over to the NYPD. I came very close to doing it; in fact, my hand was holding my cell phone and my finger on the button to speed dial Flack's number. But I didn't do it. I couldn't. This is my problem and I don't need my team or the rest of the NPYD spending their time babysitting me when there are other people out there who need help more. What I'll do tomorrow though is ask Adam to create a computerized re-creation of this guy based on the desk attendant's description. Then I'll go out and find him myself.

I'm in the middle of playing, when there is a knock on the door.

"Mac, it's Flack. Open up, this is really important."

What would Flack be doing here? I haven't talked to him or anyone from the Lab except for Stella all day and I've been damn near hermit-like in my apartment. Of course, it doesn't help the fact that there's a lunatic out there who's treating me like some kind of game.

I put my bass down gently and get up and answer the door. Flack is standing there with a deathly serious look on his face.

"What's the problem Don?"

"Do you know this girl?" He shows me a photo and my heart stops. That's the young woman who was at the desk today.

"She works at this apartment buildings front desk. What's going on Flack?"

"She had this note in here hand." He hands me the evidence bag with a crumpled up note inside and a feeling of dread comes over me as I read it:

_Mac:_

_She would have talked. In fact, she did talk to you, so she had to go. Sorry, but her death is your fault._

What looks like_ 'The Hand of God'_ has been scratched out, and he signs it with something else; _The new Mac Taylor_.

I hand the evidence bag back to Flack and rub my face with my hand, as if that'll make everything go away. It doesn't

"Mac, what the hell is going on?" Flack asks sharply, severely.

"Let's go down to the scene." I mutter. The two of us don't say a word the whole time until we get to the scene. I'm trapped and I know it. I'm going to have to tell them everything, and it isn't because of me. It's because this young ladies family deserves justice and justice is us finding this twisted son of a bitch.

When we get there, Hawkes and Stella are finishing up with processing the scene. The young woman is still lying there. She was strangled to death by his bare hands. Damn that stalker. Damn him.

"Mac?" Stella looks at me and so does Hawkes.

"Okay, now we're all here. What's going on Mac?" Flack says to me again.

I take a deep breath. "The guy who did this has been stalking me since I started taking time off. First, he sent a note in the mail. Then last night it was three phone calls early in the morning. Today in the mail, he sent me a note where he revealed that he was at the same sub place that Stella and I went to lunch at. Later, he came into my building and stole one of my t-shirts. This young woman told me he came up to her with a police badge, and asked for a key to my room. Before this, he signed all his notes with the name 'The Hand of God'. But to this young woman, he said his name was Mac Taylor. And now this."

They all glare at me. Stella looks apoplectic with rage.

"What the Hell is wrong with you Mac!" She shouts. "Not only have you known about this, but you _lied to me_ about it. I thought that you would have learned something after that 333 mess."

I'm not about to stand here and let her take the high ground. "Yes I did learn a lesson from that Stella. Andy may have kidnapped me but he wanted to kill one of you. Not to mention you all had jobs to do that don't involve babysitting me."

Her temper is still white-hot and her words are razor-sharp. "Yeah, well congratulations Mac. You got your wish; we didn't babysit you and look at what happened. Someone died."

Her words stab at me worse than a knife. Whatever remark I was going to say dies in my mouth. Not only are her words brutal, but even worse than that, she is right. If I _had_ told someone about this, maybe we could have caught this guy and maybe this young woman would have made it home.

"I'm sorry." I mutter quietly, almost so quiet I don't hear it. I mean it to both our victim and to my team.

"Hey." Flack puts a hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye. "Don't beat yourself up over this Mac."

"We'll catch this guy boss." Hawkes tries to reassure me. "Go home, get some rest. We'll deal with this tomorrow."

I'm not contesting him, or the idea that he's giving me orders. Stella isn't talking to me, and I'm not talking to her. There is really nothing to say between us. She's right; I screwed up big time and an innocent person paid the price.

Hawkes and Stella go back to the Lab and I go back to my apartment. I don't even protest Flack basically escorting me back. I don't feel like protesting right now. We get up to my apartment and I let myself in.

"Don't worry Mac. Like the Doc said, we'll get him."

"Too late for her." I mutter. "If you need to call me, use my cell phone. He knows my home number and I need a good night's sleep. I'll see you in the morning Don."

"See you then Mac." He leaves me in my apartment, alone as always. It's early, barely after 10:00 pm, but I'm exhausted after this miserable day. I change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and head to bed.

"Damn it." I curse in the darkness as I try to fall asleep.

* * *

It's odd, but a small part of him is relieved that Mac unplugged his phone. Now he knows that he doesn't have to call tonight. In truth, he's tired as well, but unlike Mac, he goes asleep in a sense of triumph. Like Mac, he changes into his pajamas, but he keeps the black t-shirt he stole on. It's his trophy for the day, although before this is done, he'll have an even greater trophy. His greatest prize will be Mac Taylor himself, when he takes Mac's life in every way. Not only will Mac himself be dead, but he will take over that life he leaves behind.

It will be glorious.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's coming up. Stay tuned for more._


	6. Chapter 6: Hunters and Prey

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks for the continued interest in this story. Here is Chapter 6, a very long chapter. Enjoy._

**Chapter 6: Hunters and Prey**

* * *

The ride back to the Lab is silent. Neither Hawkes nor Stella wants to talk about what just happened. Stella isn't focused on anything in the outside world, all her focus is on the inside. She finds herself feeling angry, frustrated, and sad all at the same time. The moment she lashed out at Mac, she regretted it. She wished with all her might that she could take it back and relive the moment. Instead of attacking him as viciously as she did, she wishes she could have tried to reassure him, make him feel better. Now, she doesn't know if he'll speak to her again. Of course, she is still angry at him for lying to her and deceiving her, but she overreacted, she knows it, and in the process, she knows she hurt him.

But, the stubborn part of her, and deep down she knows she is almost _all_ stubborn, won't apologize first. After all, he is the one who was initially at fault in this whole mess. He needs to apologize first, to her.

Damn Mac for making her feel like this.

* * *

The morning dawns warm and sunny, which isn't right. It should be grey and dark, to reflect what's going on inside me at least. I slept fine considering everything, but the black mood I had last night has not gone away. If anything, it's gotten worse. I'm dreading facing my team today. By now, they've heard about everything and they know what an idiot I've been acting like.

I quickly change and get ready for the day, putting on my black suit and my purple button down. It doesn't even occur to me that this is the same shirt that I wore when I was kidnapped by my 333 Stalker. Putting my suit on hits home more clearly than most anything else; my vacation's over.

My cell rings, it's Flack.

"Yeah Don."

"Hey Mac, you coming in?"

"I'm on my way."

It's time to leave, to enter the lion's den. This is probably the first time in… years that I'm feeling reluctant to go to the Lab.

* * *

Thanks to his bugs, he knows that Mac will be at the Lab all day. He also knows that they are going to close in on him soon. He needs to move fast, so he gets an idea about dealing with Mac. Before he does anything else, he needs a weapon. He goes to a local pawn shop and buys a simple 9 mm. It's a basic pistol, but it'll work until he gets the cops gun. Now, he has something more pleasurable to do. He's going to check out his new apartment.

Surprisingly, there are no guards or anything else in the apartment building, which he thought there might have been since the unfortunately necessary event that took place last night. Regardless, he makes his way up to Mac's apartment and lets himself in. He isn't really surprised by the place; after all, he's been observing it for three days. It's neat, cleaned with a military precision, but also full of interesting random things; the bass for instance. He guesses he'll have to learn how to play. He heads to the bedroom; the bed looks comfortable. He looks in the closet. Everything from jogging clothes to suites neatly placed in order in the closet. He decides he'll take some more outfits, at least enough to last as long as there are two Mac Taylors. He grabs a pair of jeans, another t-shirt, a jogging outfit, a blue button down shirt and a dark blue suit. In fact, he heads into the bathroom and gets into the pair of jeans and the new t-shirt. Now he is fully dressed in his new wardrobe. Of course all the clothes fit perfectly. He comes out of the bathroom and looks over the bedroom then the full apartment again.

Even though he is practically giddy at being in his new place, he is also very tired. Replacing a man not worthy of his own life is very tiring and he decides to take a nap. Naturally, he goes to his new bed and falls asleep on it. He'll like living here.

* * *

The drive to the Lab takes both too long and not long enough. I truly can't remember a time when I've been this reluctant to go back to work.

When I park my car in the Lab garage, I see Tom standing nearby smoking a cigar.

"Good to see you boss." He tells me as he puffs on the cigar.

"Isn't it illegal to smoke in New York City?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Probably. Damn nanny state. You aren't going to tell are you boss?"

"No I'm not."

"Well if you aren't…" he digs into his coat pocket and pulls out another one. "Want to join me?"

"I don't smoke Tom."

He shrugs. "Neither do I, but these are special. They're made by my uncle in North Carolina. Come on boss; with everything that is going on, why not?"

"Yeah, why not." I take the cigar and he lights it. I haven't smoked since I was in the Marines, but I can tell this is of high quality.

"Thanks. Are you going to yell at me too Tom?" I ask him nonchalantly. I expect that all of them are going to give me a dressing down of some kind. I deserve it.

"Has Stella already given you hell?" He asks, focusing on his cigar.

"Yeah she did last night at the scene."

"Then no I'm not. Besides you are still my boss and have the power to fire me." He comments, making me laugh quietly.

The two of us stand here in the garage silently working on the cigars. I appreciate the silent company and that this is holding off the inevitable. _Damn it stop acting like this Mac. Be a man already _I scold myself. I finish smoking as much of the cigar as I want before stubbing it out on the ground.

"See you inside Tom."

"You too boss. Good luck."

"Thanks." _I'm going to need it._

* * *

Danny and Lindsay can't help but notice the sullen mood that Stella has been in since she came in this morning. When they got to work, Hawkes, who somehow was there before them, he told them what happened, but omitted the exact phrases that Mac and Stella threw at each other, saying merely that they had words. Now both of them understand exactly why Stella has been in such a sour mood all morning.

The two of them, along with Hawkes and Adam are all in the break room drinking coffee and hesitantly discussing the case. They want to tread very carefully, especially since this one involves their boss, who is in the dog house with their other boss.

"Hard to believe that Mac's getting stalked again." Adam comments.

"Yeah, but there are a lot of nut jobs out there and Mac's a pretty high profile guy." Danny points out.

"Still, it isn't really fair that this is happening to him again." Lindsay says.

"No it isn't, and we need to help him out anyway we can." Danny asserts and the rest of them agree.

"Adam and I are going to run the prints we got off the vic through all our systems to see if we can get a match." Hawkes tells them.

"Well, we'll go through all the other physical evidence you got from the scene; maybe we'll find something out about this guy." Lindsay speaks for both her and Danny

They break up from the coffee room and get to work.

* * *

The rest of the day, at least on the surface, proceeds smoothly. I spend most of the morning with Flack after turning over all the letters that my stalker sent me to Hawkes, who is analyzing them for whatever he can find. To Flack, I told him everything I could about what has been going on. Surprisingly he has also kept his temper in check. In fact, none of them has gone off on me like I thought they would. Either Hawkes or Flack must have told them about last night and like Tom, probably felt sorry enough to not chew me out. In a way, that isn't better. They are pitying me and I don't like it.

I only saw Stella once today. She was going to deal with a case out in the field. We said hi to each other in a cold, formal manner. Both of us have reverted to our standard nature; stubborn and bull-headed. Fine. If she wants to stay pissed at me, she can stay pissed at me.

"Boss!" It's Adam. "I got a hit on the fingerprints!" I head to Adam's station and up on the computer screen. On it, there is the face of a man in his thirties in a military uniform. It's eerie; he looks a lot like I did twenty years ago.

"Is this him Adam?"

"Yeah it is. His name is Steven Mitchell. He was a Marine Sergeant who went to Iraq but was dishonorably discharged after an incident."

"What incident?"

"Um… he thought an Iraqi woman was his girlfriend and pursued her until the woman's brother confronted him. The brother ended up dead."

"Did Mitchell do it?"

"That's what the Pentagon said, but it was kind of a murky case. It took place during all the problems in Baghdad so they just swept it under the rug."

"And they let a potential murder go free. Do we have an address?"

"Yeah. Danny and Flack are on their way there now."

"Good job Adam." My phone rings; it's Flack.

"Yeah Don."

"Bad news Mac. Danny and I are at Mitchell's house and he's not here. Hasn't been for several days."

"I'll get Lindsay and she and Danny can process that place. Put out an alert on Mitchell. I want the NYPD looking for this guy." I tell him.

"You got it Mac. Don't worry, we'll find this guy."

I check my watch; it's nearly 5:00 pm. Really, I'm not doing anything here and on top of that, I can't anyways. If we want to be able to prosecute Mitchell, I have to stand down.

"I'm leaving for the day Adam, tell everyone if they ask." By everyone I mean Stella since the two of us still aren't talking to each other.

"No problem boss."

* * *

He wakes up refreshed from his nap. The bed is quite comfortable, he certainly enjoyed it. But now, it is time to go back to his rented space in the next building. He takes the clothes that he picked out and searches around for a suitcase to use. It's annoying really, to think that he has to go back to the rented space when he is going to live here. He finally finds a suitcase. Of course he feels nothing about taking the suitcase as well as the clothes. This is all _his_ stuff anyways. But, for now, he'll play nice and take the stuff back to his rented space. He puts all of what he's taking with him in the suitcase and casually walks out of _his_ apartment.

As he waits for the elevator, he hears the door from the stairwell open. The elevator opens and he steps in just as the man from the stairwell comes in view. They stare at each other. It's the other Mac Taylor.

* * *

When I got back to my apartment I decided to take the stairs to give myself time to think. Reading the file on Steven Mitchell, it's clear that the man is nuts. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean he is harmless. In fact, it makes him even more dangerous. From what I've read, he is more like a wild animal, willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants, and now he wants something from me.

I get up to my floor and open the door from the stairs. At the other end of the hallway, where the elevator is, someone with a suitcase is getting on.

"Wait a minute." That suitcase is…mine. It's him. He was in my apartment.

"NYPD STOP!" I yell at him, running towards the elevator. It closes just as I'm about to reach him. He smirks at me. This crazy son of a bitch is wearing my clothes, stealing my stuff and coming out of my apartment. There isn't a chance I'm letting him get away.

I head back to the stairs and start to race to catch him. I dig into my pocket and find my cell phone. I push one of the numbers, but I'm so concentrated on getting down the stairs I don't even know who I called.

I almost groan when I hear Stella's irritated voice on the other end of the line. "What is it Mac?"

"Stella, I found the stalker, Steven Mitchell. He's in my apartment building."

"What! I'll be right there. Are you armed Mac? What about him?"

"I've got my piece and I didn't see him carrying."

"Keep on him Mac. Be right there."

I hang up and keep going down the stairs. I'm not going to let this bastard get away. I finally reach the bottom of the stairs and run out into the lobby. I get there just time to see him running out the front door, across the street to the building across the street. _So that's where he's been hiding out_ I make a mental note. It's odd that even though he is being chased, he still is carrying the suitcase full of my stuff. He's nothing if not determined.

In this building he races around a corner. Being cautious, I pull out my gun.

"Steve Mitchell, come out with your hands up!"

"Come and get me Mac." He taunts.

I should wait for Stella, but he might get away and this might be the only time I have to confront this guy one on one. It's a risk, but I have to take it. I move closer to where I saw him turn.

I come around the corner, gun drawn and in front of me. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the suit case slams into me, knocking my gun to the ground. I go and grab for it, but not before he draws a weapon.

"Don't move Mac." He says calmly, totally in control of his emotions. I'm trapped. He was trained by the same people I was trained by. I'd be dead before I make a move towards my gun.

"Stand up and turn around." I do as he says and then I feel the pressure of a gun in my back.

"We are going for a drive Mac. Don't do anything stupid or I'll kill you and take your place right now."

So that's what he wants. He wants me. I have no choice but to do as he says. We walk into the garage to his car. He puts me up against the vehicle.

"Now what?" I mutter angrily.

He doesn't say anything. Instead I feel his free hand grab the back of my hair and he suddenly slams my head into the car. Stars fill my vision before I black out.

* * *

Steve Mitchell watches as Mac falls unconscious to the ground. He doesn't hesitate before opening the back door. He picks up Mac and puts him in the car. He goes back in the building and gets the suitcase that proved so valuable. He gets in the front seat and starts the car, a big smile on his face.

Now he has his prize.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's coming up. Stay tuned for more._


	7. Chapter 7: One Down, One Left?

Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who aren't me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly.

_Thanks folks for reading, favoriting, alerting, and reviewing this story. Here is Chapter 7. Enjoy._

**Chapter 7: One Down, One Left?**

* * *

Steven Mitchell really doesn't know what to do with the unconscious man in the back of his car. Actually, he does know what the final outcome would be, but he doesn't know _how_ to do it. He's very excited that he is so close to starting his new life. All he has to do is get rid of the… excess baggage.

Mitchell is suddenly struck with an idea. It has some small risk and will take some time, but he is sure it will work. He just needs to find an isolated place…

He thanks his lucky star as he turns the corner. An abandoned parking garage is on this street. It's the perfect place.

* * *

Stella violates at least three or four traffic laws as the siren blares on the top of her car, racing towards Mac's apartment. She's very surprised that he called her; she gave the distinct impression that they weren't speaking to each other. Whatever his reason, she is glad he did call at least her. She called Flack herself and over the radio, she hears that he is on his way too. She is relieved when she hears that; this Steven Mitchell that they are chasing is a lunatic. He could do anything.

When Stella arrives out in front of Mac's apartment, she breathes another sigh of relief as Flack pulls up too.

"Hey Stella, you seen Mac or Mitchell yet?"

"No I haven't. Let's go in Flack; Mac might need us."

"Right."

They both draw their weapons and come in. The guy at the front-desk holds his hands in front of him as he runs over to them.

"Officers, they went into that building!" He points to the one across the street.

"Whose they?" Flack asks quickly.

"The two cops."

"What did they look like?" Stella asks sharply.

"One was in jeans and a black t-shirt. The other in a black suit and a purple shirt."

Stella turns to Flack. "That's them. Let's go."

They race across the street. Like in Mac's building, there is a reception desk, but it's empty right now.

"Mac!" Stella calls out.

"Excuse me, I'm the manager of this place, do you two need something?" An older man calls out.

"NYPD. We're looking for two men who came by here earlier. One in jeans the other in a suit."

"Sorry Officers but I've been on my lunch break. I'll take you to our security room."

The manger takes them to the security room where a wall of TV screens connects to dozens of cameras. All three of them scan the screens. Neither Mac nor Steven Mitchell is anywhere to be found.

"Can you rewind any of these?" Stella asks.

The manager nods. "Sure. Which one do you want?"

"Start with the one in the lobby and we'll go from there."

The manager starts rewinding the video from one of the security cameras. Sure enough, no more than twenty minutes earlier, the blurry, grainy, but still recognizable figures of both Mac and Mitchell.

"There that's them. Get back to the moment when they arrive in the lobby and then play it." Flack tells the manager.

They watch events unfold. Mac chasing Mitchell, Mitchell hiding behind a corner, Mac approaching cautiously, then…

Stella narrows her eyes in anger as she sees Mitchell surprising Mac with the suitcase and pulling the gun on him. Mac had no chance to reach for his weapon. The two of them, kidnapper and hostage, walk out of sight of the camera.

"Where are they going to?" Flack asks with a sense of urgency.

"Probably the parking garage; this one is the tape for there." The manager says, his voice betraying his own nervousness. This is way more than he bargained for just managing an apartment building.

The video from the garage camera records an even tenser scene. Mitchell leads Mac to a car and then proceeds to bash Mac's head against the car. Stella fails to stifle a gasp as she watches her partner and friend collapse unconscious to the ground. Mitchell walks out of the garage and comes back with the suit case. He then stuffs Mac in the back seat like a piece of luggage and drives off.

Flack is already on the radio reporting what they saw, including a full description of the car. They get one lucky break; Mitchell's care was parked with the license plate facing the camera and they get the full number.

Despite this break, a terrible, nauseating guilt fills Stella. If something worse happens to Mac, she'll never forgive herself, especially since the last time they saw each other, they were angry at each other.

Flack comes up to her and looks her in the eyes. On the surface, he has a calm look of self-control, but deeper, she can tell he is just as scared as she is.

"We'll find him Stella, I promise."

* * *

He parks the car in this abandoned garage and draws his pistol. Then he gets out and goes to the back seat. Mac is still unconscious. As preparation, he opens the trunk of the car and also starts going over Mac's person. He takes out Mac's keys, cell phone and his wallet, stuffing them into his own pockets. Now to wake Mac up. He roughly grabs the unconscious man and pulls him out of the car. Mitchell then slaps his face and starts to shake him. It's time for their last conversation.

* * *

I'm shaken out of my unconscious stupor. A strong hand grabs my shirt and forces me to make eye contact with… I don't know. I have a splitting head ache and my brain feels like it's in a fog. The man grabbing my shirt has a twisted, angry look on his face. He doesn't say a word as he thrusts a very solid and very metal object into my side. A loud, sharp noise occurs at the same time pain explodes in my side. My legs buckle and I'm about to collapse to the ground, but he has a firm hold on my collar, keeping me standing.

He whispers in my ear. "Your life is mine now Mac. Sorry to say, but you don't get mine. You just get to die."

I'm in shock from the gunshot wound so I say nothing. I wouldn't know what to say if I could. He releases his hold on me and I immediately collapse to the ground. I'm slipping into unconsciousness.

He bends down beside me. I feel more than see him taking something off my belt. My fuzzy vision only sees something gold before turning completely to black. Before I lose total consciousness again, he taunts me one more time.

"Don't want to forget about this." He comments. "Good bye Mac. Thanks for your life."

* * *

He watches as Mac's body shudders in the aftermath of being shot. Then, the wounded man passes out completely. Mitchell seriously contemplates leaving him here, but he decides not to. It's still too close to familiar ground for the Detective. If he manages to wake up, Mitchell doesn't want to give Mac any sort of help. He bends down and picks up the wounded, unconscious Detective and throws him in the trunk. Heading back to the front of his car, he starts driving again. He manages to avoid the police and drive out of the city.

_An hour later…_

The car hits what felt like a pot-hole. The whole vehicle seems to shake and a _thump_ is heard from the trunk. Mitchell offers a muffled curse. Luckily the ride is almost over. The area is clear of civilization, an odd phenomenon being only an hour's drive away from the greatest metropolis on the east coast.

The car pulls off on the side of the road, now in New Jersey. Mitchell quickly scans the area; no one is coming. There are no witnesses. He heads out of the car and back to the trunk. Opening the trunk with his key he glares at the unconscious man inside. Mac's black suit, purple shirt, and black t-shirt all have some traces of blood on them, evidence of the gunshot wound Mitchell inflicted on him earlier. Mitchell hauled Mac from New York City into a whole other state just to get rid of him. Picking up the unconscious figure, he carries him into the grassy, wooded area by the side of the road. Finding what he feels to be a reasonable secluded area, he unceremoniously dumps the shot man to the ground. A gash opens up on Mac's forehead as he lands on his wounded right side but Mitchell ignores it. This man is no longer his problem. In fact, he is no longer anyone's problem since his identity is gone.

Mitchell quickly heads back to the car with one last look from the road. He can't see the wounded man. Good. He had only the flimsiest medical knowledge from basic training, but he assumes that given the extent of Mac's injuries, he won't be getting up any time soon. Or even better, never. Mitchell starts up his car and quickly leaves the scene, heading back to New York City. He never looks back.

He's done it. The old Mac Taylor is gone and now he can take his place. He's sure Mac is dead or soon will be. Even if the initial gunshot doesn't kill him, exposure and lack of medical attention will. He puts the new gold police badge on his belt, the number '8433' engraved into it. He also pats the keys in his pocket. Once he gets back to the city, he'll abandon this piece of junk car and take his new car back to his new apartment.

It's time to start his new life as Detective Mac Taylor.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's coming up. Stay tuned for more._


	8. Chapter 8: One Found

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who aren't me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks as always for reading, alerting, favoriting, and especially reviewing this story. Here is Chapter 8. Enjoy._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 8: One Found**

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* * *

**

Stella and Flack do not stay around for long. Knowing they have to move decisively, Stella calls the Lab immediately. She gets the team on a conference call.

"Listen up, Adam, I want you to get over here and process Mitchell's apartment, see if you can find any clues to where he's taken Mac. Sheldon, I want you here with him. Danny, Lindsay, you two and I are going to find Mac. Everyone got it?"

"Got it." Danny says and hangs up the phone. Stella turns back to Flack.

"Don, you coordinate with the rest of the NYPD on the search. Call me the moment you find anything."

"We're going to find them both Stella." He says again, trying to reassure her. She brushes it off.

"Don, I know you're trying to make me feel better, but the only thing that'll do that is finding Mac."

He nods, understanding where she's coming from. "Okay then, let's get going."

* * *

Darkness gives way to light as my inexplicably tired eyes fight to open. It takes strength and concentration I've never experienced to get my eyes open and keep them open. My head is pounding and my mind feels like it is in a thick fog. I try to bring my right hand to my forehead but the muscles on that side of my body scream in pain and protest. I can't do it. My arm falls back to the ground. I try with the other hand and it complies with less resistance. A stinging pain erupts on my forehead as my hand touches it. Bringing the hand back, I see it is covered with a red, sticky substance. _Blood, my blood_ I think to myself. _Where did that come from?_ I lift my head up to try and look at myself. I quickly find out that I'm lying on my side and a stabbing pain keeps emitting from the right side of my abdomen. I roll over so that I'm staring upwards and a small bit of the pain from my side goes away, although it is still almost unbearable. Raising my head up again, I see what appears to be a dark stain on my shirt. I'm pretty sure that it's my blood too. I try hard to remember; there was a chase, then a struggle, then…my mind blanks.

_Check to see what kind of wound it is_ some part of my brain tells me. I try lifting my head up some more to get a better look. It takes a force of will I'm not used to needing to lift up not only my head, but also the rest of my upper body. I curse to myself and grunt out loud as I struggle to get myself up. Looking down at my chest, I see what looks like a deep, circular hole penetrating my side. _Gun shot? Oh God, I've been shot!_ _Why? What happened?_ My mind is flooded with questions, none of which I can answer.

_Start moving. You can't just stay here_. I tell myself. Only problem is; where is here? I look around and my surroundings don't help me much. There is nothing here but trees and grass. No landmarks or buildings or anything to really tell me where I am.

I put my hand protectively over my right side and push myself to my feet. I let out a cry of pain and a curse as I get to my feet. It's a clear day; under different circumstances it might even be beautiful. But I've got to get out of here, wherever here is.

I slowly start to walk towards…I'm not sure. I have no idea where I am or where I'm going, I just know I can't stay still. Whoever did this to me might come back. Hopefully someone will drive by and spot me. I don't know how long I can last like this.

I don't make it too long before I notice that the wound on my side is still bleeding. I have to bandage the wound. Staggering over to a tree to support myself, I get to work. Groaning, I take off my suit jacket and discard it on the ground. Using my left hand, I bite back intense pain as I check where the bullet would have exited. A burning, stinging sensation erupts from my back when my hand feels over a certain area. My shaky hand comes back with blood on it. _So, the bullet was a through and through_ I tell myself. It's my first lucky break; the bullet has done all the damage it can do. The fact that I'm able to stand and move means it missed any vital organs. The bleeding is minimal. Moaning, I slowly start to unbutton my purple shirt and tear it into several pieces. Looking down, I'm very glad that I wore a black t-shirt today; it's hard to see how much blood I've lost on black fabric. Two of the small pieces of the torn purple shirt I ball up, lift up my t-shirt and gently push the pieces into the wounds. It exacerbates the pain I'm in and I let out a hiss. The rest of the torn shirt, I wrap around my waist and clumsily tie one end into a knot. Finally, I pick up my jacket and put it back on very slowly.

When all this is done, I'm sweating and feel very tired. When I try to wipe some of the sweat away from my face, I see blood mixed with sweat. I mutter a curse. I must have cut my head doing something I can't remember. Damn it, am I ever going to catch a break? With my side throbbing in pain and a nasty headache pounding in my temple, I still press on.

* * *

As he pulls up to the nearest parking lot, Steve Mitchell feels his excitement building even more. So, this is what it feels like to get a new life, a fresh start. When he abandons his car, he also tosses away the gun; he doesn't need it anymore. He walks the three blocks to the nearest subway station and uses some of Mac's money to buy his ticket. On the subway, he looks at himself in the mirror and breaks out into a big smile. He's Mac Taylor, in fact, he looks _better_ than the old Mac Taylor.

While riding the subway back to his new home, he thinks about his future. No more Steve Mitchell, no more dishonorable discharge, no more of his own tough past. As to Mac Taylor's, past, he really doesn't care. Both their pasts are gone now. When Mitchell took Mac's identity, his past died. And of course, the original Mac's past died with him when Mitchell dumped his body on the side of the road in New Jersey.

When he arrives at his new apartment building, he notices that the police are swarming around, especially the place where he had been staying. He doesn't particularly care; they can take all that stuff, it means nothing to him now. He takes the back way into the apartment building and heads up to the sixth floor. Fishing in his pocket, he takes out his new keys and enters his new apartment.

It hasn't changed, no surprise there. It's weird; he checks his watch and realizes that it's only been three hours since he last was here.

He decides to spend the rest of his night in his new place. He sits in the living room and decides to start assimilating into this new life. A quick scan of the place and he finds the bass on the floor. Might as well start small. He picks up the instrument and starts trying to play.

* * *

In Mitchell's old apartment, Adam and Hawkes continue processing the place. There really isn't much here that catches their attention. It looks like it's been lived in only a few days, and there are few curious things in the apartment. A pair of binoculars and Mac's home phone number written down on a piece of paper are all evidence of stalking, which they already knew about. There is nothing that can tell them where Mitchell is, or more importantly, where he took Mac.

Hawkes is processing part of the bedroom and on the nightstand there is what looks like an odd radio.

"Adam, what's this?" Hawkes asks.

Adam comes over and looks at the device. "It's a receiving radio; you know, like the ones the NYPD listens too when they plant bugs."

"Bugs? Mitchell must have bugged Mac's apartment."

"Sounds right, if this guy who's been stalking his is as nuts as he seems."

Just then, a sound comes out of the receiver. It's a rather awful attempt by someone to play a stringed instrument.

"Adam, that's Mac's bass. This Mitchell guy must be at Mac's place! Call Flack and tell him to get a SWAT team over to Mac's. Make sure they come in silently, we need to catch this guy."

* * *

Mitchell strums on the bass for a while. He knows he's not very good, but given a little time, with practice, he'll get better. His stomach starts growling, must be time for dinner. He goes to the kitchen and searches through the fridge and the cabinets. There's nothing. He swears under his breath; Mac left him nothing to eat. He'll have to order something.

He's about to dial a local pizza joint when there is a knock at the door.

"Open up, NYPD!"

He goes back to the chair and sits down, picking up the bass again to play it.

"One more time, open the door or we're coming in!"

Mitchell doesn't move, he keeps playing the instrument. Surely the NYPD will recognize one of their own when they come in.

* * *

On the other side of the door, Flack's patience runs out. He kicks down the door and he and the rest of the SWAT team burst in. The man on the other side is Flack's age, and he does have to admit that Mitchell _does_ look like Mac would 10 or 15 years ago. It's worse since he is wearing Mac's t-shirt and jeans. Seeing Mitchell here, wearing Mac's clothes, taking Mac's name, playing Mac's prized bass, it makes Flack's blood boil.

Mitchell looks at him. "Ah, Detective, welcome to my place. Come in, make yourself at home. I'm afraid I don't have anything to eat."

Flack ignores the man's ranting and rushes over to him and puts him in handcuffs.

"Wait! What's going on?" Mitchell asks with confusion and anger. Mac's bass clatters to the floor.

"Steven Mitchell, you are under arrest."

"That's not my name! My name is Mac Taylor!" He shouts in fury and tries fruitlessly to wrestle out of Don's grip.

"Shut up. You have the right to remain silent you crazy son of a bitch." Flack leads him away.

* * *

I've been walking for what feels like an eternity, using up my last reserves of strength. A groan escapes my lips as some pain somewhere flares up. I simply can't move or keep struggling anymore. I thought that by patching up the gunshot wound, some of the pain would subside. It hasn't. I was wrong. The sun is going down but I barely notice as the pain threatens to consume me. I try taking another step forward but it's impossible. My legs give out and darkness floods my vision as I collapse to the ground and wait for death to come and take me.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's coming up. Stay tuned for more._


	9. Chapter 9: All That's Left

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who aren't me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks again folks for everything. Here is Chapter 9, a little shorter this time. Enjoy_

**Chapter 9: All That's Left**

* * *

The news that Flack and his men caught Steven Mitchell is about the only good news that Stella has heard in a long time. Since starting her search for Mac she's come up with nothing. Zilch. Nada. It's frustrating beyond belief. How is it that not a single person saw Mitchell or his car?

Her phone rings and Stella almost crashes the car grabbing it. Flack is the one on the line.

"What is it Flack?" She asks quickly.

"Stel, Mitchell is talking almost nonstop. He keeps calling himself Mac and saying how he's in the NYPD. The guy's a nutjob."

"I knew that Don. Has he said anything about the real Mac?"

"Unfortunately yes he has which is why I called you. Mitchell said he…hurt Mac."

"Just tell me Don!" Stella almost shouts into the phone.

"He shot Mac, and dumped him on the side of the road in New Jersey."

Stella slams on the brakes. "What did you say?" She asks with disbelief.

"I'm sorry Stella. We've contacted the New Jersey PD and they are combing the area for him. I'll call Danny and Lindsay too and tell them."

"Thanks Don." Stella quietly says before hanging up the phone.

Stella races her car as fast as it can out of the city heading into New Jersey. She drives the Avalanche slowly down the road, her eyes scanning every clump of bushes and every clear area of grass. She's been in the Garden State for about an hour. Something inside her tells her she is close. It isn't any specific information or a phone call. It is intuition. She knows that she will find him. There is no "if" or "but" about it.

Something draws her to a lonely road, barren road. She moves slowly on the right side, looking everywhere. "Come on." She mutters to herself, praying, hoping that through the patch of grass or around the next group of trees, she will find him, and she will find him okay.

After looking for so long, Stella begins to feel the pangs of despair and even her stubborn nature begins to give up hope. The sun is setting and she sadly knows that it will be impossible to look for him with the equipment she has with her at night. Resigned to disappointment, she begins to look for a place to turn around and head back to the City. She vows to grab whatever equipment she needs and be back out searching as soon as she can.

She finds a spot on this lonely, desolate road and pulls over to the side, preparing to turn around. While her car bumps along the side, Stella notices something odd. Some of the grass looks like it has been stomped on, almost as if a person was walking on it. But there is nothing resembling civilization for miles.

_Stomped on_ she thinks to herself. Could it be? She gets out of the car. Examining the grass closer, she spots a drop of blood. Then another. Then another. _Oh God_ her hear starts racing in her chest. It's him, it has to be.

Like some grisly trail of bread crumbs, Stella follows the drops of blood. She tries to mentally prepare herself for what she may find. The end of the blood trail confirms her worst fears.

There's Mac, lying face first on the ground, his right hand clutching his wounded side. His other hand is out in front of his head as if it was meant to break his fall. Her partner isn't moving.

She rushes over to him and gently turns him over. His face is ashen and gray. She can't tell if he's breathing.

"Mac! Mac please wake up!"

Nothing. She gets no response from him.

"Come on Mac!" She puts her hand on his neck, trying to feel for a pulse, but her hand is shaking so much that she can't tell. Instead, she bends down and places her ear on his chest. Enormous relief fills her as she feels his chest slowly rising and falling.

Comforted by the fact that he's alive, Stella dials up Lindsay's number and rattles off all the relevant information. Lindsay promises that they are on their way, and an emergency medical chopper is on its way too.

"They're coming for us Mac. You're going to be okay." She tells his unconscious form.

Still no response.

Stella is concerned about his unconscious state, although she bets it is keeping him from being in terrible pain. She realizes that she still doesn't know how badly he is wounded. She has to find out; when the paramedics arrive, it could save time, which, considering how long he's been out here is critical.

Moving him very gently closer to her, she slowly brings him up so his head is resting on her shoulder. Then, she carefully removes his jacket. It makes her heart sink to see him so helpless. When she gingerly takes his arms out of the jacket, she almost sobs seeing his well-muscled arms just limply fall back to where they were.

Having accomplished that, Stella ever so gently lays him back on the ground. Although she doesn't know it, she echoes his own thoughts earlier about it being good that he decided to wear a black t-shirt today. The blackness of the shirt contrasts starkly with his pale skin. Seeing where the bullet tore through the fabric, she takes his shirt and lifts it up so that the lower part of his stomach is visible.

A vicious circular hole on his lower right side has been crudely bandaged by the purple shirt he was wearing earlier. Stella looks at it in approval; the bandage probably saved his life by keeping him from bleeding out. It might also have slowed down the onset of infection. She saw earlier that the bullet was a through and through so there is no need to check again. Plus, she doesn't want to move him again.

Having done all she can do for him at this point, Stella puts her hand over his bare stomach, a part of her needing to feel the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. This is especially so because he still hasn't made a sound, still hasn't moved, and his slow breathing is the only guarantee she has that he is still a part of this world. With her other hand, she holds his suit jacket tightly, as if it is a lifeline between the two of them.

"Come on Mac, wake up." She begs him

Still nothing. At this point, Stella would give almost anything to get another sign of life from him. A grunt, a moan, anything would be better than just this.

"I need a sign here Mac. Grunt, moan, cough, I need something, anything."

He remains still, deathly still. Those last words are literally screaming in her head _deathly still_. An irrational anger fills Stella; he shouldn't be so still. He should be fighting to let her know that he'll be okay. Without thinking about it, she slaps him on the face in a desperate attempt to get some sort of reaction out of him. Some further proof that he'll come back to her.

It fails. He doesn't move. It's then, in her moment of desperate anger, that she hears a distinct sound, one she's been waiting for; the sound of helicopter blades. She feels the wind picking up, a breeze blowing through her hair.

"Help's here Mac. Just hold a little longer."

The wind and noise pick up as they begin to touchdown on the road. It's also at this time that Danny and Lindsay, driving their own vehicle, pull up to the scene. The two of them get out of their vehicle and rush over to Stella and Mac.

"Stella! Oh God, how is he?" Lindsay asks with worry in every syllable.

"He's breathing, but he won't _do_ anything else. He hasn't moved or made a sound or anything since I found him."

By now the chopper finally lands. Paramedics rush out of it and over to them. They begin working on Mac, tearing open his shirt and carefully, but quickly removing his makeshift dressing and replacing it with more standard fare. A chill runs down the CSI's collective spines when, in the process of putting him on the stretcher, his arm briefly dangles off of it lifelessly. A lump forms in Stella's throat. This can't be happening.

Keeping herself composed, she touches one of the medics and quickly asks him if she can accompany them on the chopper. He nods in the affirmative. Relieved that she will at least be with him for the journey to the hospital, she turns to Lindsay and Danny to deal with more mundane matters. She digs the keys to the Avalanche out of her pocket and tosses them to Danny.

"Take the car back into the city. I'll meet you at the hospital." Danny nods and Stella heads over to the helicopter. She doesn't even notice that she is still carrying Mac's jacket in her hand.

* * *

Lindsay and Danny watch as the chopper takes off bound for the hospital. Lindsay involuntarily shudders and Danny wraps his arm around her to comfort her.

"Let's go Linds; we'll need to meet up at the hospital." Danny quietly tells her. The woman he loves quietly nods and almost falters for the briefest second, but it passes. A part of Danny wonders if Lindsay is okay to drive, but he decides not to press the issue. He'll be driving right behind her, protecting her and being with her, much like Stella is being there with Mac and trying to protect him as best she can.

* * *

In the helicopter, sitting next to Mac, Stella clings to Mac's hand, but also she has grabbed onto a single emotion. It isn't anger, or determination, or sadness or frustration. Right now it is more powerful than all of those. Right now, Stella is clinging to one other thing; hope.

Because hope is all she really has right now.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's coming up. Stay tuned for more._


	10. Chapter 10: Not Done Yet

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who aren't me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks for all the interest in this story. Here is Chapter 10. Enjoy._

**Chapter 10: Not Done Yet**

* * *

After the frantic activity of finding Mac and flying on the chopper to the hospital, the pace has crashed, at least for Stella and the other members of the Crime Lab. Doctor Sandy Meyers, an old friend and Mac's surgeon, came out to Stella shortly after she arrived:

"I know you haven't done anything yet, but what's your prognosis Sandy." Stella asks with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

"Honestly Stella, I'm concerned. The fact that the shot was a through-and-through is good in this case. That way when he started moving it couldn't move around and damage any of his vital organs. That's the other good news; it looks like the bullet did miss hitting any vital organs. How it did that? I can only guess it was the Hand of God."

"All that sounds like good news. What's the bad news?"

"I have three main concerns. First, blood loss. From what everyone has told me and from the condition of the wound, it was a long time between the shot and you finding him; we don't know how much blood he lost in between. Secondly, infection. I'm extremely impressed that he managed to bandage his own wound, but I don't know _when_ that happened. If he did that too late, the wound might have become infected which will be a big complication. Finally, the coma. He sustained a nasty gash on his head and I don't know how deep it went. The paramedics told me that you told them that he hasn't given any sign of waking up. As of now, I have no idea how long that this will last. It could be a few hours, or a few days, or longer. I don't know. Stella, I respect you enough to say this; I don't know if Mac is going to come out of all of this the same or even alive. I'll know more after surgery, but I wanted to talk with you first."

A nurse came up and whispered something to Dr. Meyers. "It's time for his surgery. I promise to give you an update when we are done."

Then she left and Stella stood there, feeling utterly alone. No one else from the team was there yet, and Mac was being operated on. For the first time in a long time, Stella felt alone.

Luckily for her, this didn't last long. Danny and Lindsay, having followed the chopper in their car from New Jersey arrived. Stella quickly gave them a rundown of what Dr. Meyers told her. The younger CSI's simply nodded and joined her. Flack also came by and told the three of them that the rest of the team would be by after work.

All this happened over an hour ago and they are still waiting. Stella had no idea that Mac's surgery would take this long. Her heart sinks in her chest, and then she starts getting angry. This shouldn't be taking so long. Hell, none of this should have happened in the first place. She's angry at the doctors for taking so long. She's angry at the police who couldn't find Mitchell's car. She's especially angry at that lunatic Mitchell for doing this to him. She's angry at herself for snapping at him. In fact, she feels deeply ashamed at how she acted that night. There he was, haggard and unnerved by all this and what did she do? She yelled at him and they stopped speaking to each other.

On this train of thought, anger turns to guilt. She hasn't told him how sorry she is about how she acted and now, she has a terrible feeling that she isn't going to get that chance.

* * *

While Stella, Danny, Lindsay and Flack all wait for Mac's surgery to be over with, Tom Hayes visits an old friend on serious business; Simon Rhodes, the District Attorney. Tom has come with a very specific mission in mind; getting his old boss to seek the death penalty against Steven Mitchell.

The two shake hands warmly and briefly catch up. Tom left the DA's office on cordial terms so there is no animosity between the two. Culturally though, the Crime Lab's lawyer and the DA's office are very different. Rhodes is a short, liberal, born and bred New Yorker, Tom a tall, conservative Southerner. The thing they have in common though is a love of the law.

"So Tom, what's this visit for? I heard about Mac and everyone around here is very concerned."

"Thanks Simon, I'll pass that along. I'm actually here about Mitchell."

"You can't prosecute him." Rhodes states matter-of-factly.

"I know that. Trust me, I want to though. What I really want is to talk about sentencing."

"You want me to go for the death penalty." The DA doesn't ask Tom, he just states the obvious.

Tom nods. "Absolutely. Murdering that poor Vasquez girl, the attempted murder of a cop, stalking, kidnapping, it should be an easy decision."

"You know there is no such thing. His lawyer is most likely going to try for the insanity defense."

"The methodical nature of his crimes should be enough to dismiss the insanity defense."

"Tom, you and I both know insanity doesn't equal stupid. It'll be a bogged down battle of shrinks, which I am not looking forward too."

"Still Simon, if you keep the death penalty on the table, the folks at the Crime Lab will be grateful."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind."

* * *

In the hospital, the four of them wait for what seems like an eternity. Finally, Doc Meyers comes out. Flack can tell that she's done this before. The doctor has an absolute poker face.

"How is he doc?" Flack asks for all of them. Four hearts brace themselves for what is to come.

"Considering everything he's gone through, I'd say pretty well. We had a look inside him and the internal bleeding from the wound was not as bad as we thought, but still significant. We patched that up as best we could. Thankfully the wound was not infected. It seems that he wrapped it up in time. The last thing I told you about Stella is unfortunately the least good news. The shock of being shot combined with the cut to his head and exposure to the elements has put Detective Taylor, Mac, into a coma. I have no idea how long it will take for him to come out of it. The only other news I have is that he is breathing on his own, which is a good sign."

"Can we see him?" Stella asks.

Doc Meyers nods. "Of course, he's in the ICU but as long as you don't disturb him too much, you can be with him."

"Thanks doc." Danny mutters as they follow her from the waiting room to the ICU to see their boss and friend.

* * *

Officer Brian Wheeler has been on the force for only about a year. A really young guy from Staten Island, Wheeler is a typical cop in every way except one; his movie-star good looks. Women turn their head more than once when he walks by. They admire his well-built arms, his short brown hair and his baby-blue eyes. When women look, he flashes them a grin that made their knees weak.

Today though, Wheeler is not the wish of every woman who sees him. No, today Wheeler is assigned a thoroughly boring job. Guarding some nutcase who thinks he is a cop. Not only that, this lunatic actually _shot_ the cop and moved into his place. So, to make sure he didn't try anything before they can take him to jail, Wheeler has been assigned guard duty and he is bored to death by it.

"Hey pal, I'm getting a drink you want anything?" He calls out to the prisoner.

The prisoner looks up at him and thinks about it for a moment. "I'd like some lemonade."

Odd choice Wheeler thinks, but whatever; the guy is nuts after all. He goes out and grabs himself a water and the prisoner's lemonade. He tosses the lemonade to the man who obviously can't catch it due to his handcuffs. Wheeler enjoys a cheap laugh at the guy's expense. The prisoner looks at him with loathing.

"You know pal, you know that cop you've been trying to replace?"

A mute response from the prisoner.

Wheeler presses on. "Well, you didn't even kill him. He's at Trinity Hospital right now and he'll be just fine."

"Come here, I want to show you something." He asks the cop.

Intrigued Wheeler does what he says. The prisoner takes a swig of lemonade. He then takes a step towards Wheeler and offers a wolfish grin. Wheeler puts his hand on his holster, just in case. Suddenly the prisoner spits lemonade in his eyes. Wheeler cries out in pain but before he can do anything else, the prisoner is behind him and he throws his cuffed hands around the cop's neck, pulling hard, and cutting off his airway.

Wheeler gasps and struggles to reach his gun or call for help or do anything that can stop the guy. However, the prisoner is a strong person, so much so that he actually lifts Wheeler off the ground, further impeding his airway. Wheeler continues to struggle, his legs kicking in the air, his hands grabbing at the prisoners, but after a minute, it's hopeless. The cop who made women swoon stops fighting and goes limp. Dead. The prisoner drops the body on the floor and finds the keys to his handcuffs. He quickly gets himself out the cuffs and enjoys the taste of freedom.

After he finishes killing his guard, the prisoner scans the outside corridor. It's empty. Before leaving, he looks back at the guard's body. Rage and contempt fill his whole being. He kicks the dead man's head as hard as he can.

"Idiot." He taunts before returning to his main goal; escaping.

Quietly and carefully he slips out and into the stairwell. He figures he'll have better luck avoiding detection that way than using the elevator. He finally makes it to the ground floor and moves as stealthily as he can to a side door. Everyone else is so concentrated on other things that they don't notice him slip away.

Once he's outside of Police Plaza, Steven Mitchell lets out a laugh. Now, he is going to go to his abandoned car, and retrieve two very important items. The first is the suitcase full of Mac's clothes that he stole. The other is his gun. He knows now that he can't be Mac Taylor anymore. But, his idiot guard did tell him something useful; the original Mac Taylor is still alive. Mitchell curses his bad luck. However, this also gives him clarity of purpose. If _he_ can't be Mac Taylor, then _no one_ deserves to be Mac Taylor. This time, he'll finish the job, guaranteed.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. As the title suggests, there is still more to come. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's next. Stay tuned for more._


	11. Chapter 11: Everything is Connected

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who aren't me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks as always for your continued interest in this story. Here's Chapter 11. Enjoy._

**Chapter 11: Everything is Connected**

* * *

Tom Hayes and District Attorney Simon Rhodes continue their talk in the DA's office, poking and prodding at various arguments that Steven Mitchell's defense may bring up at trial. The two lawyers enjoy the verbal duel; it's part of the job and the culture of lawyers who go into the courtroom.

While the two of them are talking, one of the DA's aides bursts into the room.

"Sirs, I'm so sorry to interrupt but Steven Mitchell escaped."

Both the DA and Tom practically leap out of their chairs.

"What! How?" Rhodes asks in shock.

"He somehow strangled the cop guarding him and slipped out."

"Shit. Has anyone informed the Crime Lab yet?" Tom sharply asks.

"I don't know Mr. Hayes. We just found out."

Tom grabs his coat and prepares to head out. "I have to get to the Lab Simon; we'll finish this later." He doesn't even wait to hear Rhodes say good-bye. Tom fishes out his phone and dials one of the numbers. He prays they pick up.

* * *

When they enter into his room in the ICU, Stella's heart sinks even further. She thought that seeing him would make her feel better. It doesn't, even though he really doesn't look that bad, considering everything that's happened. Mac is hooked up only to a heart monitor and an IV. Other than that, he seems fine and his chest is steadily rising and falling. If it were anywhere else, he would be sleeping. But not here, not now. Here he is trapped in his own mind, in that wretched state they call a coma. She walks up to the side of his bed where a chair has been already prearranged for her. She sits in it and for some time, just watches him. He looks so vulnerable and weak, two words she would have never associated with him. For a brief moment, she's concerned that even just touching him will shatter his frail body. It isn't long before this irrational fear is gone and she gently brushes some stray strands of hair on his forehead. It pains her so much to see him like this.

Watching at a respectful distance are Danny, Lindsay and Flack. All of them are deeply saddened at seeing Mac like this, but they all know that he and Stella share a special bond and it would be improper to intrude.

Suddenly and quite unwanted, the piercing sound of Flack's cell phone shatters the silence of the ICU. Flack curses to himself for still having it on. He pulls it out of his pocket and heads out of the room. The caller id says that Tom is calling him, which is very weird; he knows where Flack is, why call him?

"You better have a good reason for calling me." Flack comments.

"Unfortunately I do." Tom relates what he was told in the DA's office.

"Shit." Flack curses.

"My word exactly. Y'all need to find this whack job Don before he hurts Mac again."

"I have to tell Danny, Lindsay and Stella. We're getting some police protection for Mac until this guy is caught."

"Good luck." Tom hangs up. Flack takes a deep breath. This isn't going to be easy for the rest of them, heck it isn't easy for him. He doesn't know if any of them are really ready to handle this sort of thing.

Lindsay and Danny have moved to where they are standing over Stella and Mac. The look that Flack has is enough to tell them that something is very wrong.

"That was Tom and I'm afraid he had very bad news."

Danny and Lindsay move closer together, as if contact with each other will brace them for whatever Flack is about to tell them.

"What is it Don?" Lindsay asks uncertainly. She really doesn't know if she wants to know.

"Steven Mitchell escaped from custody. He killed the guy guarding him and got out of the building."

The three of them all have a shocked and horrified look on their faces. _This isn't happening_ Danny tells himself. There is no way this could be happening to them.

"How? Aren't there supposed to be ways to keep crap like this from happening?" Danny asks hotly, frustration and anger evident in his voice.

"We'll worry about that later. Right now, I'm going to call for a protective detail for Mac. Mitchell is going to come after him again, there's no doubt about it." Flack asserts.

Lindsay speaks up "We have to get back to work. Finding Mitchell should be our top priority." She then turns to her boss. "Um, Stella…what are you going to do?"

Stella looks up at her coworkers and friends. "I'll stay here with Mac for now. I'll also turn my phone on. The moment there are any developments in the case, call me."

Lindsay nods. It's Flack's turn to talk again and he's looking at Stella. "I'm staying here until the protective detail arrives. There isn't a snowball's chance I'm leaving you alone here with Mitchell out on the streets."

"Thanks Don." Stella says in a quiet, appreciative tone.

"We'll keep in touch. We're going to get this guy Stella, I promise." Danny tries to reassure her.

"Thanks Danny." She says in the same understated way.

They head out to talk with Flack before leaving. Stella looks back at Mac's unconscious frame. She is still brushing back some of his hair with one hand. In her other hand, she realizes she is still holding his jacket. She's been carrying it since she found him on the side of the road. She clutches it tighter.

"Come on Mac, wake up. There's trouble out here, we need you. We need you Mac."

* * *

Danny and Lindsay do not directly return to the Lab, instead, they head to the precinct headquarters to process the scene of the murdered cop. By now, everyone in the NYPD and the Lab knows about Mitchell's escape. A sense of nervousness and angst permeates the corridors of the Crime Lab.

While Danny and Lindsay are at the scene, Hawkes is combing through all the evidence they've collected from Mitchell's various crimes, hoping to find something…anything that can give the Lab insight into the mind of a madman. Meanwhile, Adam is pouring through computer files on the man. His eyes are glazing over when one document almost jumps off the screen.

"Sheldon come here, you aren't going to believe this!" Adam says, sounding shocked himself.

"What is it Adam?"

"I was doing more research on Steve Mitchell and it turns out he has a sister."

"A sister? What's the big deal about that?"

"You aren't going to believe who it is. It's Sarah Klein, the woman who murdered that stockbroker, Martin Baker. The same woman Mac arrested literally the day Mitchell began stalking him."

"What? How did we miss that?"

"She and her sister changed their names when they moved into the City. That was over 10 years ago so it took a long time to go back in the records and find the first mention of 'Sarah Mitchell', and her sister, Tanya, but here it is."

Hawkes peers at the computer and sure enough, there is the court record of one Sarah Mitchell as she and Tanya Mitchell change their last names to Klein.

"Why'd they do that?" Adam wonders aloud.

"Sometimes you just want to start over. I hate to say it but look at their lunatic brother. We need to tell Flack."

* * *

Darkness. An all-encompassing blackness surrounds me and permeates everything in the world. It's the first thing I notice, this darkness. It isn't a malevolent or sinister darkness; it's just there, a constant.

In this darkness, I try to focus and get an idea of what's going on. My eyes are fully adjusted to the darkness and I notice a light in the distance. I guess that puts me in the tunnel heading towards the light. I really don't think I have any choice other than to head to the light.

I start making my way towards that small speck of light that seems an eternity away. It'll take a long, long time to reach …wherever that is.

"Mac." A voice, more particularly a female voice calls out to me from…somewhere. It's hard to judge where anything is or comes from in this world.

"Mac." She calls out again, whoever she is. Who is that woman and how does she know me?

I keep heading towards the dot of light, now wondering who this mysterious woman is who's calling out to me.

* * *

Steven Mitchell heads back to the garage where he had abandoned his car, his wallet, and the suitcase full of Mac's clothes. Mitchell knows that he can't go after Mac right now with the police looking for him everywhere. No, just like the guy in Iraq, he'll wait, bide his time, and strike when they least expect it. Now that he knows he can no longer _be_ Mac Taylor, he'll simply have to return to his original plan. He'll hunt the man until the opportune time. And then he'll get revenge for his sister.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's next. Stay tuned for more._


	12. Chapter 12: Lost and Found

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who aren't me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_First off, I'm sorry this took so long to post. Let's call this a major case of writers block. Anyways, here is Chapter 12, the second to last chapter. Enjoy._

**Chapter 12: Lost and Found**

* * *

The light seems to never come any closer no matter how much I move towards it. The woman's voice calling out my name has stopped for now. I've been trying to think of who that voice could be. I know I recognize the voice, but I can't connect it to a face or a name. It's so hard to concentrate on anything. _This must be a dream_ I think to myself. _So if I'm dreaming, I've got to wake up_. But how do you will yourself to wake up? I don't know, but I'm going to try.

I focus myself on trying to wake up and the moment I do, a sharp, stabbing pain pierces my side. I let out a cry as the pain grows worse the harder I concentrate. Eventually, I decide that it is too much to try for right now. I wish the woman's voice would come back; I felt strength when she talked.

* * *

The rest of the Crime Lab works feverishly on the search for Steven Mitchell. Sinclair held a news conference where he announced that this was the NPYD's highest priority. A tip line has been set up and thousands of tips are pouring in; some credible, some not. The Investigators at the Lab know what is at stake in the recapture Mitchell; after all, down a few blocks and up five flights of stairs is their boss, the man who should be in charge of the Lab's effort. Yet, he is still unresponsive, still trapped in a coma. This actually spurs them; there is a determinist mood in the Lab to recapture the guy who did this to their boss.

Unfortunately for the Crime Lab, the NYPD, and the peace of mind of the citizens of New York City, Steven Mitchell is not found. Despite frantic searches, following literally hundreds of viable tips, interviewing dozens of supposed eye witnesses, Steven Mitchell is nowhere to be found.

* * *

The most wanted man in New York City, Steven Mitchell, skulks his way to a grimy, run-down hotel in a less-than flattering part of town. This is the nastier side of New York City, far away from the skyscrapers and luxury apartments downtown, and it is here that he'll find refuge from the NYPD. None of the lowlifes around here will do anything to help the police find him. He's safe.

But, his mission is not complete. Even though he can't _be_ Mac Taylor, he can still _get rid of_ Mac Taylor. For Sarah, his sister. However, this time he won't be so brazen or outlandish. Just like in the Marines, when one strategy doesn't work, time to change tactics. He'll still stalk Mac of course, but no more taunting him, no more calls or letters or stealing his things. No, he will quietly go after his pray, and wait for the perfect opportunity.

* * *

Extremely reluctantly, Stella left Mac's side and returned to the Lab. She knows that that is where Mac would want her to be. Yet, the whole time she's at the Lab, trying to find Mitchell, her mind is back in the hospital watching him. She can still see him lying in bed doing…nothing, and that is what really bothers her. She's so used to seeing him doing _something_. The thought of him just lying there is extremely unnerving.

Even more unnerving, they can't find Mitchell. Out of all the tips that come in, only about one out of every hundred is even remotely credible. Determination drives her to keep looking, keep pushing for a lead, any kind of lead. But none comes, and even grim determination isn't enough to go on endlessly. Slowly, over the course of the day and into the night, everyone in the Lab gives up for the day. Stella is amongst the last to do so, but even she has to call it a night.

As she gets into her call, her cell phone starts ringing. It's Doc Meyers. A nervous excitement makes her heart beat faster in her chest. This is either very good, or very bad news.

Doc Meyers "I'm sorry Stella but Detective Taylor, Mac; Mac is spiking a nasty fever. You might want to come down."

Her heart racing, Stella sets off for the hospital. Even though it only takes ten minutes, it feels to her like an hour. Stella mutters a curse in Greek at slow drivers, red lights, and pedestrians taking their time crossing the streets. Finally, she makes her way to the parking lot and up five floors to his room. Two guards are standing outside his room; they have ever since Flack made his call. Walking past them, she goes inside Mac's room. The sight inside almost breaks her heart.

Doc Meyers and two nurses are standing over him, checking his vitals among other things. He's sweating and trembling, as if hot and cold at the same time.

"How is he doing?" She feels stupid asking that question, but she has to know.

"Not as well as I hoped. We've adjusted his IV to deal with the fever and his temperature is not rising anymore, which is good. However, he's still running a fever and chills at the same time, which is not good. We'll need to very carefully monitor his condition. The next few hours will be critical. If the fever comes down, he'll be okay. If not…" She doesn't finish the last sentence, she doesn't have to.

Stella finds the seat next to Mac and sits down. He's still sweating and trembling and it breaks her heart to see him like this. She takes a tissue from her pocket and wipes his forehead. She gently takes his hand in hers and leans in close to him, and starts whispering in his ear.

"Come on Mac wake up. Wake up partner. I'm here for you; but you need to wake up."

* * *

By now I've given up on making it to the light or waking up. One is too painful and the other is a never-ending journey. I'm trapped, with seemingly no way out of this place. It really is a prison, an endless barren wasteland of a prison.

What seems like forever passes until a sweeping change takes over me. I'm suddenly very hot and very cold at the same time. My skin is burning up but I'm freezing on the inside. It's so intense I fall to my knees. What's happening to me?

The heat and cold are threatening to overwhelm me. I can't move or do anything. I just want this to be over with. No matter how it ends, I just wish it would end.

Then, a voice floods into my mind, a voice I remember.

_"Mac wake up."_

It's her. The same woman who called out to me earlier. Her voice comforts me, and helps diminish and dull the pain.

_"Wake up partner."_

Partner? That must be…

"Stella." I call out. Is she here? What's going on?

_"I'm here for you; but you need to wake up."_

She needs me. My partner needs me. My team needs me. Gritting my teeth, I try to will myself to wake up. The pain is still viciously attacking me, but I ignore it as much as I can and keep trying to get myself out of this. I feel myself coming out of it, but the darkness fights back, wanting to keep me here. It uses the pain as its greatest weapon as it claws and grabs me, intending on drowning me in darkness. But the voice of my partner, the concern she has, it gives me the strength to keep going, to keep fighting. Eventually the darkness fades away and a flood of new sensations overwhelm me.

The darkness is gone and I'm temporarily blinded by coming back to the land of the living. I don't know where I am or what's going, so my body shifts into a panic mode. My breathing quickens and I shift my eyes around, trying to take in everything that is happening.

"Mac! Mac! Calm down. It's okay." The distinct voice of my partner calls out to me. I look to my right and there she is, holding my hand, her other hand on my forehead, trying to calm me down.

After a short time, I regain control of myself and I look over at my partner.

"Hey there." Stella says to me gently, still trying to keep me calm.

"Hey." My throat scratches out.

"Welcome back."

"You...helped." I say to her in a voice barely above a whisper.

She flashes me a big smile and kisses my hand. "I'm going to calls Doc Meyers. She needs to check on you."

I try to nod but I just lie here. I'm so tired; waking up from the coma exhausted me and used every ounce of energy I had.

Doc Meyers does come rushing in quickly. She checks my vitals and then flashes a small light into my eyes. I make a feeble swiping gesture trying to get the light away.

"I'm sorry it hurts but I need to do this. Now, just a question or two. First off, do you know your name?"

"Mac…Taylor."

"Good job Detective." She smiles approvingly. "Secondly, do you know who Steven Mitchell is?"

Mitchell…Mitchell… the name sounds like it should be familiar. I try as hard as I can and then images start flashing in my mind. Letters, clothing… I remember who it is!

"Mitchell…stalker." I say quietly.

"Very good Mac."

"Doc…"

"Yes Mac?"

"Sleep… now?" I ask, my energy completely and utterly spent. Even if she says no, I probably will fall asleep.

Luckily for me, Doc Meyrs smiles and nods. "Of course, get some rest Detective. I'll insert a painkiller into your IV to help you."

I give her an appreciative smile and I look at my partner for a brief moment before the need to sleep simply overpowers me.

* * *

_Good? Bad? As always, I'd love any feedback you might have. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer them without revealing too much about what's next. Stay tuned. One more chapter to go and I promise it won't take as long to post._


	13. Chapter 13: It Ends, One Way or Another

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who aren't me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Well, here is the last chapter. I figured I'd get it out much quicker as an apology for how late I got Chapter 12 out. Anyways, here is the last Chapter, lucky number 13. Enjoy. _

**Chapter 13: It Ends, One Way or Another**

* * *

_Four Days Later…_

"Well, congratulations Mac, you are now clear to leave." Doc Meyers says to me with a smile. She's probably just as happy to be getting rid of me as I am to get out of here.

"Just take the medication I've proscribed you and make sure you get plenty of rest. The reason I've agreed to let you go home so early is because you've agreed to take a few more days off."

"You blackmailed me Doc." I comment dryly and she laughs.

"Let's just say that I know my patient better than he would like." Doc Meyers points out, and she's right.

"Ok Don, let's get out of here." Flack is with me, having brought me a change of clothes and I assume to drive me back. He must have gotten the short straw.

"Sure Mac. Here's the bag with your clothes." He hands me the bag and I go into the bathroom. Changing clothes turns out to be more difficult than I hoped. Stretching in any way, either by putting on jeans or a button-down shirt sends a wave of pain through my side. I finally get everything on and come out of the bathroom.

Flack is looking at me with a concerned eye.

"Mac, you're sweating; and that was just getting some clothes on. Are you sure you're ready to leave?"

I nod emphatically, hoping my show of enthusiasm will help dissuade him from keeping me here.

"No really, I'm fine Don." His face shows skepticism. "Okay, I'm not completely fine, but I'll get more rest at home than I will here."

He relents. "Alright, let's leave."

"Thanks Don. Oh, and Don…"

"Yeah?"

"You can call off the protective detail. Stella's been collecting my mail and Mitchell hasn't sent me any new notes or called my phones or steal my things. He's probably skipped town by now."

"You sure Mac? This guy tried to kill you and he's probably found out that he's failed. I don't see him just giving up."

"Mitchell is crazy but he's not stupid Flack. He probably realized he wasn't going to get another chance to kill me so he moved on to something else."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Okay, I'll make you a deal. If we get to my place and there is the slightest evidence of Mitchell still stalking me, you can keep the detail. If not, then they go away. Deal?"

"If I find so much as a sock out of place, I'm getting you protection."

"Sounds fair to me."

When we get to my apartment and Flack looks around, I breathe a sigh of relief; nothings been tampered with. There are no messages on my phone and all my things are still here.

"Well, does it pass Don?" I ask him hopefully. All I really want right now is some time alone, without bodyguards or everyone hovering over me like I'm going to crack at the first sign of pressure.

"Looks clean to me. Okay Mac you win; I'll call off the protection detail. You just promise to get some rest and stay as far away from the Lab as possible for a few days."

"I'll try."

* * *

_Two Days Later…_

Harvey Doyle collapses to the ground; dead, he is strangled by a man who attacked him without warning. Harvey had no real enemies; he just delivered packages for FedEx part time.

His killer, one Steven Mitchell, could actually care less about the man he just killed. Really, Harvey was needed for his uniform and a package from his truck. Mitchell just needed an excuse to go into Mac's apartment where he will finish what he's started.

Ever since he escaped from the NYPD, Mitchell has had little to do or think about other than revenge. The first thing he decided was the method for killing Mac. It was a relatively easy choice. Shooting him hadn't worked, but of the now three people Mitchell has killed, they all have been strangulations.

Secondly, he's watched and waited for Mac to return from the hospital. Mitchell saw him and the tall detective come to the apartment, then leave with Mac being utterly alone. Mitchell sneered in contempt as he watched the man he once wanted to be hobble around the apartment, sleeping much of the time.

Knowing how weak Mac still is, Mitchell decided that today would be the day to strike; before his foe returned to his normal strength. So, Mitchell stalked the FedEx guy, killed him and now has his uniform and way into Mac's apartment. He'll kill the man in his own home, alone and very vulnerable.

That is how it will be done. Mitchell can just picture the scene; he'll come up to the front-door, Mac will open it, and Mitchell will attack. He'll experience the joy of wrapping his hands around the Detective's neck. Mac will struggle to breathe as Mitchell tightens his grip. He'll watch with delight as Mac desperately tries to resist, only to become weaker and weaker. Then, there will be the greatest moment of all; when Mitchell feels the last vestiges of Mac's life slip away. He will revel in that one moment when the cop's life is snuffed out. Then, Mac's body will go limp and Mitchell will toss the corpse across the room like a lifeless doll. Mitchell will steal Mac's badge as his trophy and then walk out. Once all this is done, he'll have taken revenge for Sarah and he'll leave this wretched city, never to return.

* * *

There is a loud knock at the door and I let out a light moan. I've been home for just two days basically doing nothing but resting, taking the pills Doc Meyers prescribed me and trying to regain my strength. I've been asleep all morning and I'm sorely tempted to just let them knock until they get tired of it and leave me alone.

Another knock. Groaning and cursing under my breath, I make my way to the door and peer through the peep hole. The guy has his head down so I can't see his face but I do see the box he is holding and the FedEx uniform.

"This had better be good." I grumble under my breath as I open the door.

"Here's your package Mac." The delivery guy looks up and stares right at me.

It's Mitchell. Before I can do anything he slams the box against my head. I stagger backwards in pain. I'm still in a daze from his initial attack that I can't fend him off. He tackles me and slams me into my book shelf. He then wraps his hands around my throat, constricting my airway. The son of a bitch is so strong he lifts me a couple of inches off the ground by my neck; my feet now dangling uselessly in the air. The bastard is trying to strangle me; just like he killed his other victims. Normally, I'd be able to fight back and overpower him, but I'm still weak from my stay in the hospital and the gunshot wound; I can't fight him.

Black splotches are filling in my vision and once again my strength is leaving me. So this is how I'm going to die; strangled in my own living room by a madman. Damn. I had hoped it would be different.

* * *

Stella makes her way up to the sixth floor of the building. This is an unplanned visit, but she feels like her partner could use someone to talk to. It's been very weird not having at the Lab for almost two weeks now. Knowing her partner, she can bet that Mac is going stir crazy just sitting around doing nothing.

When she gets to his place, she immediately can tell something is wrong. The door is wide open and she hears the sounds of a struggle. Drawing her piece she rushes in to find Mac in a very bad situation. Mitchell has his hands around Mac's throat and up against a bookshelf. He has lifted Mac in the air and Stella can tell by how Mac is fighting back that he doesn't have much time left. Stella tries to aim her gun, but it is impossible for her to get a clear shot and she can't take a risk like that with Mac's life. Hurriedly looking around for something that can help him, and her eyes settle on the FedEx box lying near the front door. She grabs it and runs to the them, desperately hoping to help Mac before it's too late.

* * *

I didn't hear Stella come in; I'm too focused on trying to stay alive. I know she won't, but I hope she takes the shot. Instead, I do hear her feet rushing over to us. _Oh God, please be careful_.

It all happens so fast, like some kind of blur. Stella attacks Mitchell with the same box that he attacked me with. Mitchell lets go of my throat and I collapse to the ground, desperately trying to get air into my lungs and blood flowing again. I sink to my knees and can do nothing but watch as Mitchell turns his full attention to my partner. The two of them struggle but to my horror, Mitchell gets the upper hand. He's going to kill her!

Still gasping for air, I get up and tackle Mitchell, who slams into the glass door heading out onto my balcony. He instinctively lets go of Stella and turns his attention back to me. A heavy fist slams into my side; the same side he shot me in. It explodes in pain and stops me in my tracks. He pushes me back again and I trip on the rug. I'm in pain and he can simply overpower me at this point.

The next blow never comes. A single gunshot rings out and Mitchell stops cold. Mitchell falls backwards, dead. Blood starts pouring out of him.

Stella. In the confusion, she must have scrambled back to get her gun and taken a shot at him.

"Mac!" She rushes over to me. "Are you okay?"

I nod, which doesn't stop a grimaced look from making it's way onto my face. "It hurts but he didn't tear the stitches and I can breathe. I'll be okay."

She embraces me in a hug, her concern evident in every part of her being.

"It's over now Stella." I try to reassure her. She holds me tighter

Tonight, Wednesday night, after everything has been taken care of in my apartment, especially the removal of the corpse of Steven Mitchell, I'm at the jazz club, for the first time in two weeks. I sit on the stage, playing my bass, letting my world shrink down to just the music I'm playing. In the audience, although they didn't tell me they were coming, I spot my team at one of the tables. Knowing they are here helps me feel better. I'm damn glad I have them to count on, no matter what.

* * *

_Well, that's it. Thanks so much for everyone who's read, alerted, and reviewed this story. I'd especially like to thank Lenni George, sucker-4-smacked, LilDevyl, Kat's in the Cradle, afrozenheart412, snowangel-983, challengerspet, Wildweasel, conche, damonkeygirl, DreamerChild88, miss37, and HSMSupernatural. Thank you all very, very much._

_J. _


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